


The Adventure at the Brothel

by Vanyathalias



Category: Sherlock Holmes (Downey films)
Genre: Drug Use, Light Bondage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-17
Updated: 2013-10-17
Packaged: 2017-12-29 16:09:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1007396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vanyathalias/pseuds/Vanyathalias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To solve a case, Holmes goes undercover at a brothel and gets more than he bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Adventure at the Brothel

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Sherlock Holmes Kink Meme Part II on Livejournal, January 2010
> 
> Prompt: To solve a case, Holmes goes undercover at a brothel. Watson goes in (also undercover) as a client and hires Holmes when it becomes apparent that someone else is going to do so. He thinks they'll be able to just go sit in a room for an hour or something, but either they're being spied on or they have to use a public room or...idk, you can figure it out. Awkward, first time sex with an audience, where Watson has to treat Holmes like a whore.

Of all things… lowering himself to this point had to be the worst. Slinking into a brothel – a _male_ brothel at that – and not even to hire someone, but to _be_ hired. He’d had the thought to try it before, of course. He was curious by nature, and this form of coupling was a curiosity that had run through his mind innumerable times throughout the years. Especially throughout the time he’d known Watson… However, since that was positively out of the question for many, many good reasons, a brothel was his next best hope of experiencing his unlawful night-time fantasies. Still, that was in his wildest imaginings, not something he ever thought he would actually do. In a sense, he still wasn’t, he reminded himself. _Yes, that’s right, Holmes old boy, you’re here to be the whore, not to hire one._ Going through their primitive idea of an “audition” at least required no more of him than for him to strip off his clothes and be appraised, _manhandled_ really, as if he were some sort of livestock being looked over at market.

Yes, this was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do to solve a case. He knew, though, that there was no other choice if he was going to figure out what was happening to those missing boys, children of the wealthiest families in London. The case had led him here, and he was going to do whatever it took to discover the truth. He just had to be objective, and observe his surroundings, then get out as fast as possible. Looking around at the gaudy furniture, the plush red velvet drapes and dazzling chandeliers, he felt his muscles begin to ache from his sudden nervous tension. Of course, he was really in trouble now. He hadn’t realized when he’d decided on this option that these whores also plied their trade in large, common rooms! Boys of all ages lounged comfortably on the couches in various states of undress, some with well-dressed gentlemen in matching states of undress. Some couples, and more, were also in various states of other activities. In front of everyone. He cringed. Learning information, and even sneaking off to investigate other areas of the house, was much easier since everyone was in one room. He just had to think on that positive aspect, and not on the much more terrifying aspect of getting hired before he got what he came for. If that happened, there was no way out of his situation. He would _have_ to go through with it. He’d never done such a thing before, and if luck wasn’t on his side, he’d be doing it tonight with a strange man. What had he gotten himself into?

***

Watson slipped unobtrusively through the large, polished oak door. The smell of incense and opium smoke assaulted his nostrils the moment he stepped inside, his eyes slowly adjusting to the dim lighting. As he caught his first glimpses of the interior, he nearly whistled under his breath. This was the place, alright. Sexual acts of any kind were being performed on an array of couches, soft moans and whimpers reaching his ears from various points throughout the room. He suddenly blanched as he thought about Holmes; he hadn’t already been forced to…? Surely not yet.

Before he could fully take in his surroundings, a richly dressed man in his late forties with a paunch and glittering rings on his fingers appeared at his side and began a very nerve-wracking conversation about what _exactly_ he was in the mood for that evening. After swallowing harshly a few times, his parched throat still dry, he attempted a slightly falsetto answer of, “I’m not exactly sure.” The owner smiled conspiratorially, “Your first time, then? I could match you with one of our more experienced boys…?” Watson felt himself start to panic. He hadn’t thought he’d have to choose immediately. Then the idea hit him. Holmes was here, and he was new; it was a perfect opportunity to get together and prevent either one of them from having to “close any deals,” as it were.

“Actually, that’s a little… um… well, what I mean to say is that I would much rather… if they weren’t so much more… experienced… than myself. I… I’m not sure…” The owner, however, nodded and took over the sentence from Watson’s stuttering. “Of course, someone less experienced would be easier to handle, and also,” the pudgy man winked and nudged him, “be a lot more _fun_. The newer ones are much less… broken in, to put it delicately.” Watson nodded. He didn’t think anything about this place was delicate or proper enough to warrant being delicate, but saying so would not help their investigation. “Would you like to see my available and less experienced boys?” Watson thought quickly, and tried wetting his throat by swallowing a few more times. It didn’t help any more than it did the first time. “Is it possible to just… look about for a few minutes until I’m a bit more… comfortable… with these surroundings?” The owner took a critical look at Watson. After a short pause he replied, “I normally don’t allow people to carelessly wander my establishment, good sir, but as I see you are quite unnerved, perhaps I can allow you a guided tour of the main areas.”

Watson breathed an internal sigh of relief. He didn’t think he could go through with the sort of acts that were performed here, certainly not in front of everyone, and certainly not on some poor boy forced to work as a whore to this pathetic excuse of a man. He may have entertained the possibility of two males together, once or perhaps twice on a lonely night… when Holmes wasn’t around, but his absence did nothing to remove his presence from Watson’s fevered mind. Watson shook his head to clear away the uncomfortable thoughts. They needed to figure out this case quickly, because it was having an amazingly dire toll on his sanity. “Yes, yes of course, that would be wonderful,” he agreed softly. The owner clucked his tongue and snapped his fingers, and a slight boy of about seventeen appeared at the large man’s side. The boy was evenly tanned, scantily clad, and his eyes were stunningly outlined in black kohl. Watson felt an uncomfortable knot in the pit of his stomach. He was beginning to understand why the fat, balding man in front of him was so rich and prosperous. However, he refused to think about that as the boy was informed of his duties and fell into step with Watson as they began their tour of the “public” premises.

***

Holmes was knotted as tight as a violin string. He was sneaking down another hallway on a scouting mission, having left his assigned spot in an obscure corner of the main room downstairs a short while before. He knew he would have to hurry. He’d be missed before too long. He was new and… virginal. Even though he wasn't sixteen, he was still unused and beautiful; in other words, choice goods. Holmes unconsciously shuddered as he finished checking the rooms on this wing, feeling his apprehension build proportionally with his discomfort at his attire. He wasn’t dressed too revealingly, but wearing only slacks (no matter how fine the quality) and a mostly unbuttoned shirt that was barely clinging to his shoulders made him feel naked and vulnerable. He tried not to concentrate on why he was dressed that way.

After all the work he’d done on this case, he knew the missing boys _had_ to be here. But where were they? Yes, they were missing, even though they were presumed dead by everyone else, thanks to the evidence planted at each scene. Of course, it hadn’t fooled him, but he could see the base logic behind the tactic: as long as the families thought their boys were dead, there would be no search party. One did not need a recognizable body, or even an entire body, to fake someone’s demise. As long as people were convinced the victim was dead, the smugglers would be free to sell their “wares” and force-feed their captives opium until they became docile sex slaves without any intervention by the authorities. Beautiful, well-bred boys would fetch a high price in this market, and the owner was definitely the type of man to do anything for a profit. Although most boys in the brothel were sold by the hour in the common room downstairs, he knew that those kidnapped boys turned opium-addicted prostitutes would be too drugged to move. They were obviously here against their will, as well, and as such, could not be put on display in front of all their customers. No, these boys were reserved for the highest bidders, and they would be sold in private.

He’d already checked the third floor and one wing on the second, but still not a trace. Holmes ran his fingers through his hair in frustration, and moved towards the right wing to continue his search. Just as he reached the top of the stairs, however, he saw another boy, _man_ really, starting up the stairs. He forced himself not to jump as the blonde called out to him, “Hey! Where have you been? I've been looking all over for you! Get back down here immediately, before Master Higgins realizes you’ve moved!” Holmes cursed silently to himself but started back down the stairs. At least the other man hadn’t bothered to actually ask him what he was doing, he mused, as he fell into the wake of the other male. He worked here now, under his own discretion, and he was new, so he supposed it was a rather superfluous question anyway.

Holmes tried not to see this diversion as a failure. Obviously the boys just weren’t where he’d already checked. That meant that they were either on the right wing of the second floor… or in the basement. The owner of this place would never store them on the main floor. That would be illogical. In his current situation, though, he didn’t feel any better about narrowing down the prospects. Not while he was being escorted back to the room in which he could be sold as a whore at any minute. Maybe it was for the best that Holmes wasn’t psychic; it was better for him to be oblivious that his time was up, and he _was_ about to be sold as a whore. And to his best friend, no less.

***

His time was up. He’d had a surprisingly prolonged look around the “public” premises, which consisted of the main room, a washing room, a small closet where the working boys’ outfits and other tools of the trade were apparently stored, and another smaller room for more private encounters. He thought with a flooding sense of relief that he could “buy” Holmes and bring him to this currently unoccupied room for subterfuge, but when he asked the boy at his side about it, he felt his hopes dashed. That was _way_ more money than they had to spend. He knew this brothel was high-class beforehand, but now he really understood the type of scheme they were getting involved with. The public room was his only option.

On his way back through the common room, just out of the corner of his eye, he finally saw Holmes. Like a magnet his gaze was drawn to his friend, currently bare-chested and slightly disheveled, lounging on a chair in one of the more obscure corners of the room. Watson hadn’t realized he’d stopped moving until the sound of a throat clearing sounded somewhere near his ear. “You see something you like, I presume?” Watson spared only the slightest of glances to Master Higgins before his eyes were drawn inextricably back to Holmes. He alternately flushed and blanched, his mouth dryer than ever. Watson felt his heart trying to hammer through his ribs as his eyes trailed down to Holmes’ legs, outlined perfectly in a soft-looking pair of slacks. _It has to be the opium smoke_ , he thought, as he finally managed a nod in response to the owner’s question.

Just then, he watched Holmes pick up a pipe and take a deep pull. Speaking of opium… _What in hell does he think he’s doing?!_ Mingling worry and doubt flooded him, but he managed to keep his expression controlled. Studying Holmes further, he realized that Holmes did not sit as if… anything had already occurred. Besides, he was still fully, if only barely, dressed. Why then, would he be smoking during such an important case, unless…?

Watson never got to finish the thought. He caught sight of the man sauntering along, heading straight for _his_ Holmes. Holmes apparently had seen him coming as well. Now Watson understood the opium. Holmes didn’t want to be sober for this. Pricking fear in the form of hot and cold needles spread quickly throughout Watson’s body, a panicked ‘ _No!_ ’ screeching to him from his heart and mind both. He’d waited too long!

***

Holmes sat back, taking a couple more pulls from the opium pipe, watching the man watching him. He knew the game was over. He saw the lust in the other man’s eyes. Then he saw the man begin to advance. He took another hit from the pipe and assessed the man that was about to purchase his… virginity for lack of a better term. He was tall and lean, with black hair and blue eyes. He wore little facial hair, a moustache and a small beard on his chin, and was dressed in London’s finest attire. At least if this was going to happen to him, it would be by a clean, handsome man of high birth and not some fat, dirty scum that some whores had to entertain. Even so, Holmes felt grateful to the opium, which was already making his thoughts cloudy and his limbs heavy. His body felt mostly at ease, but the opium had yet to fully calm his inner nerves. He took another drag. There was no turning back and there was no escape. This was going to happen.

Holmes sighed sadly and thought of Watson. He knew who he’d really wanted to be with in this manner, and now he would be used by some random stranger before he could ever realize his fantasies. _Well_ , Holmes thought, _he’s enough like Watson so that maybe with the opium… maybe I can pretend its him, anyway_. Holmes took a final drag and set the pipe off to the side. He’d soon know intimately exactly what the abducted boys felt, and precisely why he had to free them and bring their kidnapper to justice. If he could manage to get their kidnapper to prison without killing him once he got out of this brothel, and once he got his hands on that filthy bastard’s throat.

~

‘ _It’s too late!_ ’ Watson’s mind screamed as he watched the dark-haired stranger approach his best friend. Or, maybe not…! In desperation, before the man got within speaking range of Holmes, Watson turned to Master Higgins and pointed, saying, “Him. I want that man. Only he will do. He’s perfect.” The owner nodded, having seen Watson’s speechless gaze from a few moments before, but apparently not having seen the drama unfurling with the other man. “Ah, yes. He’s actually my newest addition, just came in yesterday. Completely unused. He really will suit your needs, I think.” “That’s wonderful,” Watson panted out, breathlessly. He quickly handed over the required money to Master Higgins, who responded with a wink, “He’s all yours, then. Have fun, and do visit again.”

~

Through the foggy haze, Holmes caught sight of Watson, but shook his head lazily. It was too late. The strange man had already arrived at his side, and began stroking his fingers through Holmes’ short, spiky hair. Holmes looked into the man’s sky blue eyes as he hovered over him, and the man smiled. Watson began walking faster, as quickly as one could walk indoors and still retain decorum. The man was standing between Watson and Holmes, so his actions were hidden by their bodies. Watson already knew that he’d saved Holmes, though, so while he was overcome by a sense of jealousy and protectiveness that nearly made him lose his senses, he reigned himself in. If he drew too much attention to himself, he’d mess up the investigation. Better to remain controlled, no matter what his emotions were currently telling him to do with that sewer slime touching _his_ Holmes… who was meanwhile struggling to breathe as the stranger ran a gloved hand over his bare chest. He was feeling oddly aroused, and kept repeating his mantra, _Imagine it’s Watson, imagine it’s Watson, imagine it’s Watson_.

As the stranger leaned down for a kiss, Watson finally arrived and put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Excuse me, sir, I’m quite sorry but you’re going to have to find other entertainment for the evening. This man is mine.” Holmes could only look up, blinking cutely, a funny feeling in his chest at his friend’s words. The stranger started to protest and laugh Watson off, but Watson quickly assured him that he’d already paid for the man in question, and had arranged it with the brothel master, so if the gentleman would be so kind as to take up any discussions with Master Higgins, he would be much obliged. The stranger was very unhappy as he stalked away, robbed of his delicious-looking feast. Watson breathed a sign of relief. Holmes beamed.

***

So here they were. Watson gingerly sat next to Holmes, taking off his hat and setting down his cane. After repeated attempts to say something, _anything_ , he finally closed his mouth and sighed, looking into Holmes’ eyes. Holmes had gotten his bearings on the whole ordeal and was staring at Watson with a look of gratitude and love. _Love?_ Well, at least gratitude. Holmes slurred, leaning in conspiratorially, “I do think I owe you now.” Watson turned away from the mischievous gleam in his friend’s eyes. “Yes, well, of course… I had to do something, and…” Watson faced Holmes again, taking a deep breath to start an obviously long-winded sentence. “What _exactly_ did you think you were do-…” Holmes interrupted, certain he already knew what topics Watson was about to scold him on. They didn’t have much time for lengthy discussions or bantering, as much as he usually loved to indulge in it. “Yes, yes. Whatever was I thinking? Good question. It will have to be answered at a later time, dear friend. For now, back to the issue at hand. I know exactly how to repay you.” Watson tried to interrupt Holmes, but he kept talking without a break, “We can’t sit here forever just chatting; this is a brothel for God’s sake. We’ll attract attention if we aren’t being lewd and scandalous! So if you paid for me, good sir, then you shall have me. I am your payment. I AM _yours_ after all, isn’t that right, Watson?” It had the desired effect: Watson stopped trying to speak, looked down and blushed a deep red. It had an unforeseen effect, as well, though. Holmes blushed the same deep red.

“Now,” Holmes cleared his throat and licked his lips. “I’m glad it’s going to be you at least.” He smiled. “But remember, I’m your whore. We must keep in character to avoid any undue scrutiny. I’ve already checked the top floor and the left wing, and there were no traces of the boys. Obviously they won’t be on this floor, so they must be in either the right wing upstairs or the basement. Once we’ve satisfied our… duties… we can… clean up in the wash room.” Watson interjected, “Yes, I saw it a few minutes ago.” “Yes, of course. Once we’re out of the common room, we split up. You head upstairs and I’ll go to the basement.” Holmes replied to the question in Watson’s eyes. “It’ll be much easier for you to get upstairs as well as less condemning if you’re caught. Check the right wing. Once we know where the boys are, we can both leave through one of the windows in the back, and send in the detectives to rescue the boys. I’ll fill you in on the rest later. For now…”

Holmes glanced around, and when he didn’t see anyone watching, he continued, “I’m assuming that the master surmised this was your first visit to a brothel (and mine as well, though that is entirely beside the point) so I’m sure we can get away with…” Holmes made a gesture towards the space between them. “…any awkwardness or clumsiness. But I bet he will be watching. I’m new, so he will probably make sure I’m… doing… okay. Just, please,” Holmes’ voice turned from his usual rambling, rational and explanatory lilt to a desperate and pleading whimper, “try… to be… gentle.” Quietly he added, “It is my first time doing this.” They looked up at the same time, and in that moment saw their mutual secret unmasked in each other’s eyes. They wanted to pretend they hadn’t seen the excitement and lust, but they gave in to the inevitable the moment Holmes leaned in and softly touched his lips to Watson’s.

***

Holmes had forgotten just how drugged he was, but the touch of his friend’s lips sent tingles of electricity throughout his body and seemingly allowed his head to float above his shoulders. He felt like dead weight floating in the sea, but was insanely aroused at the same time. He mumbled against Watson’s lips, “Now I wish I hadn’t had so much opium; I better remember this tomorrow,” suddenly thrusting his tongue inside the blonde’s mouth. They both chuckled nervously, their teeth clicking as random licks landed in a variety of places while they tried to gauge how to respond to the other man’s technique. It was awkward, they had to admit. They had been so close for so long, and they depended on each other for so much. Hell, they _needed_ each other. But coming together like this, when neither of them had really been ready to admit their feelings was a challenge. To do so with others watching was even worse. To do so in a brothel where…

Holmes suddenly pulled back, flushed, breathing slowly but deeply, his hair disheveled, and his pupils contracted to mere pinpricks so that the chocolate brown of his irises was nearly the only color visible. Watson thought he’d never looked so beautiful before. He would never say that out loud, of course, but Holmes seemed to read it in any case. Watson and Holmes looked past each other, as if in sudden, mutual agreement, and with two quick but subtle glances, they both realized with a thrill of embarrassment and mild arousal that they were being watched by at least a few men. Intensely.

Holmes looked a bit coy, but began unfastening the few buttons still attaching his shirt to his body. “I guess we’re just so alluring, we’ve become the main attraction,” he muttered. Watson smiled but said nothing as his eyes traveled along his friend’s chest, and without his express permission, his hands began following the trail his eyes carved out mere moments before. A soft whimper passed Holmes’ lips, and his hands dropped to his sides. Watson smiled, seeing just how dazed Holmes actually was, and took over the job himself. After removing his shirt, the blonde man laid Holmes down on the couch with a gentle push. He fell over with no resistance, and Watson quickly covered the detective’s body with his own. Their lips met again, this time with more success as hands began roaming long-awaited bodies. Watson’s hat was knocked to the floor without the slightest care.

Sliding down, Watson kissed and bit his way down Holmes’ neck before taking one of his friend’s nipples into his mouth, nibbling gently as his tongue flicked back and forth over the hardening nub. Holmes moaned softly, his hips arching up to find friction. The taller man let go of the nipple, kissing and licking the detective’s chest before finding Holmes’ other nipple and nibbling on the stiffening flesh. At the same time, his hands wandered towards Holmes’ slacks, undoing the fastening but going no lower. Instead, they began trailing lightly across the toned stomach, then to the ignored nipple. Watson could hear Holmes panting, sounding ridiculously lewd and yes, _whorish_ … but genuine; the noise was starting to make him frantic to be undressed, their audience be damned.

With stubborn yanking, and a few buttons frantically undone to prevent their detachment, he managed to maneuver his shirt over his head. Holmes reached up, as if in wonder, and ran his hands over Watson’s bare chest. He managed to lean up and get one, solid lick across Watson’s left nipple before his world literally flipped. Watson gently but forcefully grabbed Holmes’ hips and turned him so he was lying on his stomach. Then, without any warning, there was a strip of cloth winding around Holmes’ wrists, then attaching him to one of the rings at the end of the couch… made expressly for that purpose. Holmes whined, yanked on his soft bonds, and felt more turned on than he ever had in his life.

***

Holmes was too high to argue, complain, or even question. In fact, had he the brainpower, he wouldn’t have known which to do anyway. Along with the opium, his hormones and shallow panting were making his head spin. He resolved to breathe more deeply to prevent fainting. _I never would have guessed that my straight-laced, obsessive-compulsive Watson was… was… a_ deviant _! I can’t believe he just tied me up! I… OH. I think I’m glad he is…_ Holmes shuddered as Watson reached underneath their bodies and grasped his friend’s erection, feeling the hardness pulse in his hand. He’d never held another man so intimately before, but he supposed it felt rather like touching his own. _It shouldn’t be too hard to make him enjoy this, then… should it? We have to, at any rate, so he should… enjoy this, too. Obviously, I can bring him to… completion. But the other thing… it has to feel nice for the other man, or why would there be establishments selling it and men going to jail just to have it? I mean… what do I mean?? What am I… I feel embarrassed even thinking about this!_

Watson blushed hotly at the direction his own thoughts took, and was glad Holmes couldn’t see his face currently. Holmes would tease him for being so shy. That thought made him bolder. _But why should I be embarrassed? I’m being forced into this situation (whether I’m enjoying myself or not is another matter entirely!) And… I’m in a brothel, and Holmes… he told me…_ Watson continued massaging his friend’s erection and began suckling on Holmes’ neck and shoulder, biting and nibbling at the toned muscles that tensed with every stroke of his hand. His other hand ran gently up and down the detective’s side. He panted, felt his own desire straining against the front of his slacks. All Holmes could do, however, was pull on his bonds and moan, trying desperately to thrust into Watson’s hand. The detective was still trying to concentrate on not fainting from the pleasure. He’d dreamed of things like this in his most intimate of fantasies on the darkest of nights… but never did he think it would come true. Never did he think Watson would be so _eager_.

_Holmes did say to act in character. This is my first visit to a brothel, and Master Higgins knows that, but, that should just mean I’m excited to finally… visit. Yes. It’s not out of character to have sex like I would with a female. Even if I fumble and look awkward. At least I don’t have to pretend like I know what I’m doing. But I should enjoy it, the same way I normally would, since I’m doing it anyway. And it_ is _with Holmes… and he is so… beautiful…_ Watson’s thoughts trailed off, his mind too feverish to bother thinking anymore. He’d made up his mind, anyway.

***

Holmes was in a similarly fevered state, hands tied, body immobilized by the weight of Watson’s pressing against his back. _Oh… I can feel him against my back!_ Holmes groaned, low and long. He started to think this wasn’t such a bad turn of events after all. Then Watson let go of his erection. Holmes whined. Watson grabbed Holmes’ hips instead, pulling him up so he was on his elbows and knees, hands still tied to the edge of the lounging couch. Watson slipped those soft pants from Holmes’ hips and down his thighs, letting them pool at his knees.

Unable to resist a quick glance, the doctor raised his gaze to see that they were still being intensely watched. Most were involved in their own acts, some were watching others, but some were definitely watching Holmes and Watson. Maybe Holmes was right. Maybe they made a striking couple… Watson bit his lip when he noticed that a few of the men watching were touching themselves. He looked over and noticed Master Higgins hovering in a doorway, watching with approval and mild arousal before he turned and walked back out of the room. Watson felt his face grow hot with a blush and looked back to Holmes. _Ignore them. Ignore all of them, except him_ Watson told himself. He spotted a small dish on a table next to the couch, and with his imagination and his thorough knowledge of the human anatomy, had no problem figuring out what he was supposed to do.

Holmes was fuzzy, his whole body tingling and on fire. He’d never been so aroused before! Never had a woman made him feel the way his friend made him feel. Now, he was at the mercy of that friend while entrenched in an undercover operation that forced him to act the part of a whore, a situation that frankly, they were both enjoying thoroughly. Holmes was still shocked to find himself tied up, though, and treated like… Watson shocked Holmes’ mind into silence as a warm, slick finger pushed into him without any warning. Holmes gasped and tensed, biting back a groan. The doctor leaned over his friend’s back, whispering softly in his ear, “Shh, relax. It could hurt you if you don’t.” Holmes gritted his teeth, feeling the blonde man’s hot breath flow over his ear, paying attention to the feel of the cloth against his wrists, slowly adjusting to the feeling of Watson, any part of Watson, actually being _inside_ of him. A pulse of blood went directly to his groin at that thought, and he panted loudly.

After a few moments, Watson felt Holmes relax, and he moved his finger in and out. The black haired man groaned at the slight burning sensation, but felt compelled to beg for more. The moment Holmes managed a “more,” Watson stifled a moan of his own, and added another finger. He continued adding a finger every time Holmes relaxed and moaned for more, slowly stretching his friend until he was moaning and whimpering continuously, trying to shove his hips backwards to gain a harder thrust and more friction. _Apparently it_ does _feel good to be on the receiving end_ was all Watson could think. The doctor suddenly felt like he had a fever; he’d never been harder in his life, and the desire to make love with Holmes was all-consuming. Unfastening his own pants and sliding them all the way off, he paid no heed to anyone else as he slicked his arousal with the same oil from the dish and literally mounted Holmes. 

***

Holmes was pulling at his bonds, whining for more. He never realized how this would actually _feel_ , being subdued by another man. Though, a small part of his brain had to admit that Watson was the only man he would _ever_ trust to do this to him. And, oh! Every time Watson rubbed in that specific area inside of him, he thought he might actually die, his body feeling as though it melted into electrified particles. _This_ , he thought, _is heaven_.

He whined in frustration when Watson stopped, removing his fingers and pulling away. Not long afterwards, though, he felt the blunt tip of his friend’s erection, and he _mewled_ in need. At the sound, Watson’s self control was lost, and, grabbing the other man’s hips, he thrust deeply into Holmes’ body. Holmes was sure he had screamed, but maybe the sound never actually left him. He heard a ringing in his ears, but with his whole body frozen, paralyzed in pleasure and pain, he wasn’t sure if his lungs could produce sound. His body flushed from head to toe, and a few moments later he was able to gasp, breathing deeply to regain some sense of sanity. A heart beat later, the thought _John just entered me… he’s_ inside _of me…_ crossed Holmes’ mind, he moaned wantonly, pulling at his bonds and writhing and bucking against Watson’s hips.

Watson couldn’t help it. The pleasure surrounded him, the tight heat, and Holmes’ cries. Curled over his friend’s back, penetrating the other man, the words had left his lips in a harsh whisper before he even really thought them. “You’re _my_ whore, aren’t you?” However, the words surprised him more than by just appearing without his explicit consent; they _aroused_ him, and made Holmes try to laugh, moan, and agree all at once. In the end, it only seemed as if Watson groaned, thrusting deeply a few times while Holmes squeaked and then hissed a “yes.” After a few more deep thrusts, Watson established a rhythm that Holmes quickly matched, and Watson continued to whisper dirty little nothings in his ear, saying “good boy,” “you’re my whore,” and “you’re so tight.” The detective looked towards the rest of the room out of the corner of his eye, and in the middle of his bliss he saw some of the other patrons and whores watching them and their passion, touching themselves and each other to their sights and sounds.

He couldn’t take it anymore. Holmes begged quietly for Watson to _stop_ and _hurry_ and _please_ and _touch me_ in rapid succession. Watson finally decided to stop, pulling out and calming down before he lost himself. He knew they weren’t there for pleasure, that this was a situation forced upon them… but he didn’t want it to end now that it had begun. He untied Holmes’ wrists, and helped his friend turn over, lying him down on his back. The shorter man relaxed with a sigh, even through the frustration he felt at not finishing. Watson pulled Holmes’ pants the rest of the way off and threw them to the floor. Adding a bit more oil to himself, he lifted his friend’s legs, parting his thighs, and entered him again. Holmes cried out, the angle, the friction so very different than before. Holmes clung to Watson’s shoulders, panting harshly and begging to be allowed to finish. Watson set the same brutal pace he had adopted just before, and groaned, laughingly, in Holmes’ ear. “Don’t fall out of character, now. Whores are whores, but you’re not supposed to be this attached to a client, are you?” Holmes first thought to tell him to go to hell, but he decided to tease back instead. He leaned up and panted, “I’m not just any whore, though, remember? I’m _your_ whore.” Watson flushed furiously, and thrust harder, finally taking hold of Holmes’ long neglected arousal, and pumping it with vigorous strokes.

It didn’t take long before Holmes moaned, releasing his seed all over their chests, stomachs, and hands. Once the shorter man reached completion, Watson quickly followed his lead, the convulsions inside Holmes’ body milking his orgasm from him. He spilled his seed inside his friend before they collapsed together, gasping for air. 

***

Holmes groaned softly as Watson pulled out and sat up. Blinking wearily, Holmes surveyed their surroundings from his prone state. They had apparently stopped being a focus of attention once their show was over. Watson felt relieved. Holmes felt a suspicious lack of, well, _anything_. He tried to concentrate on thinking, closing his eyes, and almost immediately drifted off to sleep. Watson had to tap him a few times to get his friend conscious again. “You have to get up, Holmes. You can’t sleep here. If you don’t move, that man might come back for you,” Watson warned. Holmes just shrugged and smiled. Watson looked suspiciously at the opium pipe and then back at Holmes. Maybe he should keep this substance around for those times he needed Holmes docile. Watson felt another blush spreading across his cheeks. At least for when he desired a repeat performance of this in their shared home. Apparently Holmes would actually be capable of peace and quiet. Watson smirked to himself, but spurred Holmes to action by reminding his friend why they were in the brothel in the first place. Holmes grumbled, but they eventually collected their clothes and headed, arms entwined, to the washroom near the back of the brothel house.

While they were cleaning themselves with clean water and soft towels, they nearly refused to even look at one another. Holmes sighed and started dressing, his eyes flickering over Watson’s still naked body. Amazingly, Holmes was finished dressing first, and he started spurring his friend on. “Come on, Watson, hurry! We don’t have time to dawdle.” “This, coming from the man that almost fell asleep a few minutes ago?” Watson replied false-sharply. Holmes smiled. “I am drugged, good sir, so I do in fact have an excuse. You, however, do not.” “You would ignore an excuse even if I had it,” the doctor interjected, and they both laughed. “May I ask, though,” Holmes started, leaning against the wall, watching his friend slowly dress while his eyes shone with mischievousness, “where _exactly_ did you learn to tie people up, Watson? I thought an upstanding fellow such as yourself would be above such base depravities.” Watson contemplated punching Holmes, but knew it would do no good but make his hand sore.

~

A few days later, Holmes’ and Watson's sketches were featured under the headline "Sherlock Holmes Once Again Aids Police in Spoiling Foul Plot". Oddly enough, there wasn’t a single truthful word in the article about how they had managed to infiltrate the nefarious brothel. No one knew that, however, except Holmes, Watson, and a fat, balding man by the name of Higgins who was currently sitting in prison without a single sympathetic ear to tell.


End file.
